


Set It On Fire

by magicalspoonlover



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Bottom Roman, Bottom Sheamus, Fluff, M/M, More characters to come, Smut, Top Brock, Top John, angel - Freeform, incubus, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalspoonlover/pseuds/magicalspoonlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheamus O'Shaunessy is just a simple (human) bartender who's struggling to get out of the shitty town he lives in. What he wouldn't give for something exciting to happen. In comes Brock Lesnar, who is so much more than he appears. Sheamus might get his wish, but at what cost? </p>
<p>Meanwhile, Roman Reigns has just been betrayed by his brothers, who have left him for dead. John Cena saves him, acting like he'd been lucky enough to be there, but is there more to the story than John lets on? And is Roman truly safe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set It On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not sure how long this story may go on for. Updates will probably be irregular as well, only because I suck at updating in a timely manner. The title belongs to 'Set It On Fire' by My Darkest Days. 
> 
> Also, there's no money to be made from this story. I own no characters and claim nothing but the plot. Sheamus, Roman, Brock and John all belong to WWE and themselves (unfortunately - the things I'd do to all four). 
> 
> So without further ado, enjoy! Next chapter will be Roman and John.

"An' good riddance, ya useless piece o' shit!" A thick Irish brogue rang out clearly even with the noise of the bar, and the loud banging of a door soon followed after.

Sheamus's narrowed eyes were staring at the door, pale hands on hips and posture stiff as his lips turned up into a snarl.

The irate customer who had just tried to grab at his ass didn't appreciate being told off and had drunkenly declared he'd rather drown in a gutter than drink at 'this pisshole', or so he'd called it. But he would be back and everyone knew it - which was why Sheamus was beginning to get tired of the idiot's antics. He wasn't _interested_ in a whiny little bitch like him; very few people knew, but Sheamus was actually a bottom in the bedroom rather than a top. Still, he took great pains to keep that a secret and very rarely slept with anyone.

Jameson, the customer who'd just left, didn't seem to get the hint that he wasn't the Irishman's type.

After staring at the door for ten more minutes, Sheamus turned his back on it and headed back behind the bar. "You sure showed him, again," joked one of his regulars and he had to force a smile at the woman, far more irritated than he wanted to let on. He ducked his head down to hide that irritation, picking up a cloth to start cleaning used glasses.

"Yo, you need a hand taking care of that guy again, let me know."

The Irishman glanced up only to see one of the bar's bouncers, Randy Orton, smiling at him in what was supposed to be a reassuring way. Sheamus had personally seen the way the guy fought, though. Randy was practically a monster with his fists and he'd even spent some time in prison for grevious bodily harm to someone who had accidentally bumped into him. Of course, that someone had actually taken his wallet, so it was warranted but still. Definitely one guy that Sheamus never wanted to piss off.

"Thanks fer the offer, Randal, but I'll probably end up knockin' him out meself if he keeps his shit up." He wasn't a weak fighter himself and could handle his own if needed. Randy grimaced at the use of his actual first name, but nodded anyway (because for some reason, Sheamus was allowed to get away with it) and disappeared to the other end of the bar, where a fight was beginning to break out.

It was the same thing, every night, every shift. For a moment, Sheamus leaned against the bar and sighed, running his free hand through his auburn mohawk. Nothing ever changed in Gretel's Bar; hell, nothing ever changed in this fucking town. Start work, yell at grabby customers, watch fights break out, go home. Repeat.

Maybe it was his fault for moving here in the first place, but he'd wanted some peace and quiet from his last ex boyfriend, Dolph. He knew Dolph wouldn't follow because this town was too quiet, too utterly dull for the blonde's taste.

That was the town's only thing that it had going. That it kept Dolph firmly and far away.

A body sat down on the stool in front of Sheamus and for a few moments he kept his eyes focused downward, having just finished put more glasses away. "What can I getcha?" He tried to disguise the bored tone in his voice, he really did. But he knew he'd failed when he looked up and met the amused gaze of gorgeous, piercing blue eyes. They nearly took his breath away.

"Scotch on the rocks," the man spoke and a shiver ran down Sheamus's spine at the sound of his voice. He took a step back from the bar to get what the customer wanted, but for a quick second he subtly scanned the other male. Broad shoulders, a broad chest, blonde hair, thick arms. It was very rare that such a good looking man walked into Gretel's Bar. He reached up for a glass on one of the shelves and a bottle of scotch from another shelf, deftly tossing some ice into the glass before pouring amber liquid into it and handing it to the handsome stranger. Sheamus was one of the quickest, and best, bartenders there. Not that he was mentally bragging about himself or anything.

Thankfully, the large guy already had money ready. "Pretty quiet bar, apart from the fight," the man remarked as he placed the cash in Sheamus's open palm, a spark igniting as he brushed his fingers over Sheamus's wrist before withdrawing them. Swallowing hard, reeling at the effect that this male was having on him, Sheamus nodded dumbly. "Usually is. Ain't nothin' ever interestin' happen here, sorry to say." He could feel a stutter crawling up his throat so he fell silent as he set about dropping the money into the till. Another glance up and the man's eyes were still set on him.

The blonde suddenly smirked. "I'm Brock," he told the Irishman, tilting his head back as he downed the scotch in one go and Sheamus had to inhale a shaky breath at the man's throat. "M'Sheamus. Ya just a visitor 'round these parts?" Nothing wrong with a friendly conversation. Plus, Randy had by now tossed all the troublemakers out, so there was no current fight happening. Made his job a helluva lot easier.

"You could say that. Just passin' through. Staying for a few days, though."

Something about Brock screamed danger but the redhead couldn't figure the reason out as to why. Really, at this point he was more thinking with his interested cock than his brain. It wasn't often someone caught his attention.

Sheamus shook his head to clear the fog, and leaned against the bar. "Ya not gonna find too much to do here, t' be honest. Boring as fuck town." Honesty was the way to go. He didn't want someone like Brock to be bored shitless out of his brain when he could just stay in town one night and then be gone by morning.

Brock leaned forward, blue eyes darkening a little as he regarded him. "I could tell. I happen to be pretty fuckin' fun myself, though. Maybe I could liven the town up," his gaze met Sheamus's again and the Irish bartender found his jeans suddenly tightening, feeling the lust practically course through his veins. The implications of Brock's statement invited so many possibilities. He had to bite down hard on his lip to stop from gasping out loud, images of Brock leaning over him in a bed flashing before his very eyes. He pushed away from the bar and whatever seductive look Brock had before instantly vanished, replaced by mild concern.

"Was that too far?" It was an innocent enough question. However, Sheamus found himself disconcerted by the heady wave of lust that had passed through him moments ago. It was unusual, to say the least, and he'd never felt so horny in his life. Had never outright wanted to suck nearly a complete stranger's dick. But he wasn't looking at Brock's eyes now and it was like someone had undone something tight around his chest. 

"No, not 't all. I just.. 'm just tired." He figured that was it. That, and not having been laid for like six months was also taking its toll on him. Sheamus refilled the blonde's glass with scotch again and set it before him, trying to ignore the strain against his jeans. Nothing sucked worse than getting an erection at work of all places.

Brock inhaled slowly and his eyes seemed to darken even more, nostrils flaring. He downed his scotch again in one go and set the glass down, standing up. He was even taller than Sheamus thought and the Irishman stubbornly blocked a fantasy of being pinned to the wall by him. "Gotta be goin'. Can't have a late one tonight. But I'll be seeing you around, Sheamus." The smirk reappeared and he gave Sheamus a deliberate look from head to toe, making it abundantly clear that he was checking the paler one out. Then before Sheamus knew it, Brock had gone.

The Irishman sank against the bar, his knees utterly weak. Now _that_ was a fucking man. A beast, even.

What kind of beast though, remained to be seen.

 

 

 


End file.
